


Under the Honeysuckle Vine

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Aged up characters, Blowjobs, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Humor, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, PWP, Public Sex, Shotgunning, Smoking, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 22:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Stan doesn't have much experience smoking. Richie helps him out, like the loving boyfriend he is.





	Under the Honeysuckle Vine

**Author's Note:**

> i thought this fandom needed some stozier shotgunning fic, so here! there was originally gonna be a bit more of a plot to this, i think, but i kind of got distracted and it just turned into three times stan and richie got high and fooled around. so! 
> 
> thanks to hannah (cathect) as always for betaing! 
> 
> enjoy!

“I could give you detention, you know.”

Richie looks up with an amused smirk. “But you won’t, Stanny. You know it, I know it.”

Stan glares down at him, arms crossed over his chest. “I could,” he says again.

“But you won’t,” Richie replies. He pulls a drag off his joint and taps the ash from the end. His smirk shifts to a grin, still aimed at Stan. “Because you _love_ me,” he teases. Just saying the words sends a thrill along his spine, even if he means them mostly jokingly. Weed makes him sappy. And horny.

Heat pools in Stan’s cheeks as he scowls. He doesn’t deny it, though.

“C’mon, Stan-The-Man.” Richie pats the space beside him. “Sit. Smoke. Rejoice. It’s almost the end of our senior year. We should be celebrating!” He tips his head back in a half-hearted cheer.

“I don’t smoke.” Stan says. It's a little bit of a lie; Richie knows he's partaken once or twice at the odd party here and there. But it's seldom more than a short-lived drag followed by a bout of angry coughing. All the same, Stan inches a little closer to Richie and his eyes are trained on the ground like he might just actually have a seat.

“I’ll show you how, babe, c’mon. You'll never learn if you don't really give it a try.” Richie pats the space again. “It’ll be great, just one try, okay? If you hate it, I’ll call it an early night.”

“It’s eleven in the morning, Richie.” Even so, Stan sits gracefully beside his boyfriend. He sits with his back ramrod straight, as always, and his hands on his knees. It’s a peculiar pose, but it’s Stan’s pose. Richie loves it, and especially loves undoing the rigid, tight posture with sweet kisses and dirty words.

He’s getting off track, hang on.

“Well?” Stan asks. His blush is worse but his mouth is open, and Richie wants to suck at his lower lip. _God_ he’s really high right now, way too high and way too horny to be doing this behind a dumpster at school. Richie giggles and shakes his head. “What, now you’re not going to share?” Stan tries to reach for the joint but Richie holds it out of reach.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolds. “We’re doing this my way, Stanley.” He tries to keep his voice firm but a stray giggle slips out at the end. He takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. I’m going to take a hit, alright?” He shakes the joint between his fingertips. “Then, I’m gonna kiss you.” He holds Stan’s chin with his free hand and rubs his thumb over Stan’s bottom lip. “And then you’re gonna breathe, okay?”

Stan is glowering at him, but nods.

Richie beams back. “Great. One sec, babe, hang on.” He grabs his lighter from the breast pocket of his shirt to light the end of the joint again. It hasn’t gone too dim, but enough. He lights it once more and takes one drag. He lets it sit in his lungs before letting it out in a swoop exhale. “Okay, hang on.”

Stan rolls his eyes beside him, but his hands tighten on his knees. Richie smirks as he puts the joint to his lips again. Stan’s got the worst tells, and Richie’s head is swimming knowing that Stan is getting turned on too. Hot and heavy in the middle of class behind a gnarly dumpster. Richie is in _love_.

He inhales deep and long and holds it in his chest. He uses his grip Stan’s chin to pull him into a kiss and seals their lips together. Stan’s shiver runs through them both and Richie pries Stan’s lips apart with his tongue.

Stan obediently drops his mouth open and Richie takes his time to memorize his boyfriend’s mouth (not for the first time). Once Richie’s lungs start to burn, he exhales slowly. Stan inhales at the same moment, such a quick learner, and takes everything Richie has to give. He coughs a little, but the kiss doesn’t break. Richie feeds him the smoke until there’s nothing left, and eventually he pulls back.

“Hold it in,” Richie commands.

Stan’s lips slide shut and he’s even more red in the face now. He starts to cough slowly but surely, until there are tears in his eyes. Richie pats at his back with clumsy fingers and coos reassuringly.

“Okay, come on, let it out.” Richie’s hand trails from Stan’s back to his neck and he rubs his thumb against the groove of Stan’s collarbone. He watches the wispy smoke billow from Stan’s lips, and reels in the urge to groan. The smoke escapes in spurts as the last of Stan’s cough dissipates. Richie is so hard in his pants, and he’s feeling so good, so loose. “Fuck, I wanna blow you.”

Stan starts to cough again, harder, as the last few strings of smoke escape him. He clears his throat and blinks away the tears in his eyes. “Richie,” he croaks. “What the fuck?”

Richie shrugs and practically melts against the dumpster. His hand on Stan’s neck continues its downward path, over his shirt until he lands at Stan’s belt. “I really, really want to blow you, babe.”

Stan sputters again, but there’s no smoke caught in his lungs this time. “Richie, we are at _school_ , and it’s almost time for lunch! People always come out here at lunch!”

Richie shrugs and takes another drag. “So let’s go find a classroom. Or your car, oh Stan, your _car_. C’mon, it’ll be great.”

“It won’t,” Stan protests, but he’s laughing.

“C’mere, let’s do another one, you’re not high enough yet.”

Stan nods even though he looks like he might object. Richie hurriedly takes another puff, just as long and deep as before, and this time he doesn’t have to pull Stan in for a kiss. Stan practically lunges for him, grabs him by the collar and kisses him like he’s trying to start a fight.

Richie lets Stan lead, lets Stan lick into his mouth and breathes out when Stan makes an urgent, needy sound. It takes a few moments but once there’s nothing left to give, Richie pulls back and watches Stan swallow reflexively. He doesn’t cough right away this time; his lips are sealed tight and his eyes are closed in concentration.

While Stan is distracted—he holds the smoke in his lungs with such focus, it’s pretty fucking cute—Richie stubs out the joint on the dumpster and sets it aside. He swings himself into Stan’s lap, impressed when Stan’s hand move to his thighs at just the right moment to steady him. As he settles it startles a cough out of Stan, followed by several more. He still clearly hasn’t gotten the hang of the burn in his throat but it’s cute to watch his face flush and his eyes water and watch him pout at Richie.

“Richie,” Stan murmurs, smoke wrapped around his words as he exhales. His breathing evens out as the last tendrils float into the air. “This is a bad idea.”

Richie scoffs. “I have the best ideas, Stanny, when are you gonna accept that?”

 

They get caught—with Richie’s hand down Stan’s pants and come drying on the front of Richie’s jeans, no less—but Richie maintains it’s totally worth it. Stan isn’t as sure, but he _does_ promise Richie he’ll try shotgunning again. Just not at school.  
  


**-**   
  


“Richie? What the fuck are you doing out here?”

Richie looks over his shoulder and smiles at Stan. “Chillin’ like a villain, babe, what’re you doing?” He turns to face Stan properly, still grinning dopily.

“I woke up to get a drink and you were gone,” Stan says with a frown. He looks adorable with his curls mussed beyond belief, wrapped up in a baby blue bathrobe.

“Just had a craving.” Richie says as he waves the joint around. “I couldn’t sleep anyway, so.” He takes a drag and sighs happily. “Wanna partake?”

Stan stares at the roach between Richie’s fingers. It’s burning bright in the late evening light and casts Richie’s hand in an orange glow. Slowly Stan shuffles across the back porch; the screen door slips shut behind him and he takes a seat on the steps beside Richie. “Yeah, okay,” he whispers.

“Have I ever mentioned,” Richie says slowly. “That you look fucking delectable in that little robe?”

Stan pinks and rolls his eyes. “Pass the joint, Tozier.”

“Nuh-uh,” Richie shakes his head. “We do it my way, remember?”

Stan’s blush worsens. “Fine.” He agrees.

Stan stares at the joint expectantly, and Richie makes a show of bringing it to his lips. He sucks on it slowly and never breaks eye contact with Stan. The longer he inhales, the heavier Stan breathes, like some sort of delicious feedback loop.

“Richie,” Stan keens. “Please.”

How can Richie say no to _that_? He drops the joint beside him and scoots closer to his boyfriend. “Come here,” he manages to get out before Stan is kissing him eagerly. Stan crowds his space and seals their lips together. He opens his mouth before Richie can even think to, and moans softly when Richie doesn’t immediately exhale.

After a beat, Richie obliges. He breathes into Stan’s mouth and takes in his little moans as Stan takes in the smoke. Stan coughs into the kiss before pulling back. His eyes are already watering and his lips are pursed. He doesn’t hold it in too long, but lets out the smoke with only a few stray, light coughs.

Richie grins. “Good job, babe,” he says genuinely. He turns and reaches for the joint again, unsurprised to see the end hardly glowing at all. “Another one?”

Stan stares at the joint. “One more,” he says roughly, his voice tinged with the lingering smoke.

Richie nods and takes another drag after lighting the joint again. He deliberately stubs it out after and sets it aside, before Stan is on him again. Their lips meet hungrily and Richie pushes out an exhale, and Stan drinks him in. Their lips come apart a few times and loose tendrils of gray escape each time, swirling around them before dissipating in the air.

Stan sits back and exhales like he’s in a hurry. He goes so fast he coughs at the tail end, hard enough that tears leak at the corners of his eyes and his face turns blotchy red. Richie soothes him with a hand on his back, until Stan looks at him—and fuck, what a sight. Eyes already so alluring made even more so by the wetness shimmering there. His lips, normally thin and frowning, are parted and flushed red and kiss-bitten.

Stan drags him in by the collar of his shirt. Richie falls on top of Stan and lands between his spread legs.

“Stan, babe, we can’t.”

Stan growls into an off-kilter kiss. “We can.” He reaches between them and shoves at Richie’s pajama pants.

Richie doesn’t protest further. He pushes Stan’s robe up and gropes at the waistband of his boxers. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters belatedly. He gets a hand around both their cocks and strokes them to full hardness. Stan writhes against him, still flushed a delectable red.

“Richie, Richie, Richie,” Stan moans. His legs curl around Richie’s thigh and he ruts into Richie’s hand. His moans get louder, more desperate and Richie kisses him to muffle the sounds even a little bit. Stan melts into the kiss and when Richie bites his bottom lip, he comes between them.

Richie groans and comes shortly after to the dazed, pleased expression on Stan’s face.

They clean up with the hem of Richie’s shirt, and as they sit up a cough from the doorway startles them both.

“On my fucking p-porch?” Bill asks, arms crossed.

Stan grins sheepishly at Bill and shrugs, and Richie’s heart leaps in his chest.

Bill rolls his eyes. “You two are a mess.” He turns back inside and his footsteps fade into the house.

“Ready for bed, babe?” Richie says as he stands. He holds out a hand to Stan and hauls him up.

Stan nods and lets Richie lead him inside. “We need to stop getting caught,” he says, almost like an afterthought. “Kind of ruins the mood.” He leans heavily against Richie as they settle back in the living room with the rest of the Losers.

Richie laughs so hard Bev throws a pillow at him from across the living room, but it’s so worth it.  
  


**-**   
  


Richie takes the steps into the basement two at a time and when he hits the bottom, Stan is immediately in his space, smelling like sweat and cheap red wine. There’s a flush high in his cheeks and his lips are bright like he’s been biting them over and over. He’s grinning, though, and immediately smacks a wet kiss against Richie’s cheek. Richie winds his arms around Stan’s waist and lifts him off the ground.

“Having a good time?” Richie asks with a smile of his own. He sets Stan back on unsteady feet and keeps one arm around his waist to hold him up.

“Yes,” Stan slurs as he and Richie walk over to the drink table. “Bev bought me _three_ bottles.”

Richie nods along. “How many have you had so far?” He half props Stan against the table so he can pour himself a drink. He’s tossing ice into the shaker with a splash of vodka and a healthy dose of rum when Stan tugs at his sleeve. “Yeah, babe?”

“Did you…” Stan’s voice falls to a hush and he leans in closer. His sticky-sweet breath fans over Richie’s cheek. “Did you bring a joint?” Stan leans too close and starts to topple towards Richie; he and Richie’s newly poured drink are only saved by Bev swooping in and catching Stan by the hips.

“Ho boy.” She teases, giggly and pink-cheeked and definitely drunk but not as much as Stan. She pecks him on the cheek sweetly and spurs a giggle out of him. “Your boy is _wasted_ , trashmouth.”

Richie snorts. “I can see that.” He sips at his own drink and suppresses a shudder; the bottom shelf vodka that Bev brings to every party burns on the way down. “Wanna smoke with us? Stan was just wanting to duck out.” Richie pats the back pocket of his jeans.

Beverly hums but eventually shakes her head. “Thanks though. I’ve got to work in the morning so I’m trying to be _kind of_ good.” At Richie’s disbelieving raised eyebrow, Bev gives him the finger. “Take your boy back, he’s a mess.” She shoves Stan gently at Richie, slow and careful enough that Richie can pull him close without spilling his drink.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Stanny.”

Stan beams back at him, and Richie kisses the grin on his lips.

“Hey, Bill!” He hollers over the thrum of music coming from the corner. “You good if we smoke?”

Bill looks up from his game of beer pong with Eddie—judging by how the other is swaying, Richie would guess Bill is winning—and nods. He cups a hand around his mouth and shouts back. “Just crack the wuh-window!” He points at the high window on the other side of the basement, then turns back to his game.

Richie tugs Stan across the room and passes his drink to him with a very serious, “don’t drop this.” He has to haul himself onto the table to push the window open, but once the chilly night air is wafting in Richie jumps back down. He pulls his lighter and the joint from his back pocket and wiggles them at Stan.

“You wanna try it on your own?” Richie asks as he holds out the roach. “You’ve gotten a lot better at it.”

Stan bites his lower lip and shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs as he leans into Richie’s orbit again. “I want you to do it.” Stan laughs after he speaks and shakes his head. “I need more wine.” He seems to suddenly notice Richie’s cup in his hand and lifts it to his lips to take a sip.

“Ah, ah, ah, not happening, babe.” Richie plucks the solo cup from Stan’s grasp and sets it aside. “I think you’re fine, Stan. You’re gonna get a little cross-faded. You’re gonna love it. Okay?” After he gets an eager nod, Richie brings the joint to his mouth and flicks the lighter till the flame catches.

He inhales slowly and tilts his head back as the smoke mingles in his lungs. When it starts to burn just enough he exhales with his head aimed toward the window, and the wind sweeps it up and away. “Ready?” He asks, thumb already ready to flick the lighter to life again.

Stan nods again and steps closer to Richie. They were side by side before, and now their hips are brushing and Stan is practically molded against Richie’s body. Stan tilts his head to the side and parts his lips expectantly and Richie can’t help but steal a quick kiss. And, despite his eagerness for the joint, Stan kisses Richie sloppily and enthusiastically.

Richie reluctantly breaks the kiss with a pleased sigh. “Love you, babe.”

Stan’s blush darkens, and he ducks his head shyly. “Love you too, Richie.” He raises his gaze again and looks at the joint rather than Richie.

Richie decides not to tease him, this time. He brings the joint to his lips and lights it, inhales, and Stan moves in for another kiss before Richie even needs to ask. Their mouths seal together easily and Stan parts again, for Richie. Richie exhales into Stan’s mouth slowly and listens as Stan breathes him in.

As they break apart again, the smoke trickles from Stan’s lips. He doesn’t cough once. He grins once the smoke has dissipated and licks his lips.

“Another?” He asks, voice rough from the smoke and words still slurred.

Richie just nods.

He lights up again and again and every time Stan meets him part way, so desperate to suck the smoke right from his lungs. The longer they do it the messier it gets; the less smoke Richie pushes into Stan’s mouth and the wetter their mouths get as their kisses turn lopsided. Richie opens his eyes during a kiss at one point and moans—all he can see is thin grey smoke around them, and Stan’s eyes fluttering shut, and his sweat-mussed curls falling into his face.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” Richie groans as they come apart again.

Stan nods, and nods, and then wraps his hand tight around Richie’s wrist. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Richie blinks back at him.

Stan frowns and tugs at Richie’s wrist. “Let’s go _upstairs_.” He jerks his head toward the stairs like Richie doesn’t know where they are. Richie just blinks at him though, and tilts his head curiously. “I want you to blow you, trashmouth, and I’m not going to do it around everyone else.” His words are sharp and clearer than when Richie first arrived—but they’re also breathless, like Stan might drop to his knees regardless of the audience.

The thought sends a thrill through Richie that spurs him into action. He stubs out the joint on the stone wall of the basement and sets it beside his empty solo cup. He reels Stan in for a biting kiss and then pushes him toward the stairs.

“Lead the way.” Despite his words, he and Stan stumble up the stairs together. It takes three times longer than it should, and as they hit the top steps Richie is well aware that several pairs of eyes are on them. He doesn’t pay them any mind, not even the shout of _“not my fucking bed, Ruh-Richie!”_ that comes from Bill.

They head straight for Bill’s room, warning be damned, and Stan locks the door behind them both.

“How do you want me?” Richie asks with a wink. He startles when Stan curls two fists in his sweater and pulls him into a kiss. It’s wet and sloppy and hurts when Stan bites Richie’s lip hard enough to split the skin. Quick and passionate as it began, it ends when Stan uncurls his fists and plants his palms against Richie’s chest instead. He shoves and sends Richie stumbling until the backs of his knees hit the edge of Bill’s bed.

Richie falls to his ass on the bed, and in the blink of an eye Stan is on his knees between Richie’s legs.

“Fuck.” Richie groans. He holds himself up on his hands even though he wants nothing more than to collapse onto the bed. They haven’t even started and Richie feels like he’s on the edge of coming. He watches with wide, rapt eyes as Stan makes short work of his belt and zipper and button.

Stan reaches into his boxers and pulls the waistband down far enough to hook it under Richie’s dick. Stan licks his lips once before leaning in and wrapping his lips around the head of Richie’s cock. He suckles eagerly and his curls bounce when he starts to bob his head. He moans around Richie and slowly sinks his lips lower and lower.

Richie tangles a hand in Stan’s curls. “Easy, easy,” he says slowly. He pulls gently and wrings another moan from Stan and the shocks of pleasure have Richie’s eyes rolling in his head. “Fuck, shit, _fuck_. Stan, take it easy.”

Stan’s eyes open and Richie knows he’s fucking done for. Never breaking eye contact, Stan starts to move in earnest. He slides faster up and down Richie’s cock and moans each time the spongey head hits the back of his throat. Richie twists his hand in Stan’s hair every time it starts to get too much, but Stan clearly doesn’t care. He only moves faster, sucks harder, moans and pulls off only to suck in deep gasps of air.

Richie yanks on Stan’s hair again, not that it does anything to stop him. “Babe, Stan, I’m gonna fucking come.” He barely gets the words out with the arousal and urgency blooming in his chest. He tries, politely as he can, to push at Stan’s head. He knows full well that Stan has—understandably—an aversion to the taste of semen.

Stan doesn’t pull off, though. His hands snap to Richie’s hips and hold him still as Stan takes Richie as far as he can. He swallows around the length and moans, one last time that’s just enough to tip Richie over the brink.

He falls back as he comes and he swivels his hips in aborted thrusts against Stan’s mouth. He knows he’s moaning too loud, and that if anyone has come up from the basement they can probably hear him. Richie just doesn’t care. He melts into the bed as Stan pulls off with a shivering sigh.

Richie sits up after a quick struggle just in time to watch Stan swallow, watch his adams apple bob. He makes a face, one that’s cute and scrunched up, but he licks his lips again and swallows again and Richie thinks he could die happy. He leans down to Stan and cups a hand under his chin.

“How ya feeling, babe?” Richie asks as he presses a kiss to the corner of Stan’s mouth.

Stan opens his mouth to answer but all he lets out is a whine.

“That good, huh?” Richie teases. “Lemme help.” He slides to the floor and his knees knock against Stan’s. He brings his hand to Stan’s pants and finds the button and zipper already undone. “Oh?” Richie spares a glance between them.

Stan scowls and his blush turns spotty on his face.

“Had to let off some steam once you got my dick in your mouth, Uris?” Richie kisses Stan before he can answer and unceremoniously shoves his hand into Stan’s pants. He strokes fast and tight, and the friction of his hand makes Stan whimper. “This is gonna be over real quick, isn’t it?”

Stan opens his mouth again and there’s the furrow of his brow that means he’s annoyed, but he devolves into a moan as Richie slides a hand down the back of his pants, too. He grips a handful of Stan’s ass and pulls him closer, strokes him faster. He bites and kisses his way from Stan’s mouth to his ear.

He tugs on his earlobe with his teeth and traces the shell of his ear with his tongue. “C’mon, babe. Come for me.” He bites down again and sucks, and Stan comes undone with a body-wracking shudder. His cock spills into Richie’s hand and stains his briefs. Stan pushes into his fist as he comes down from the high.

Stan practically falls against Richie afterward and giggles against his neck. “Bill’s gonna be mad.”

Richie shrugs, careful not to dislodge Stan. “Worth it.”

Stan looks up and grins at Richie. “Worth it,” he agrees.


End file.
